


texting is the new black

by colferstilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Drabble, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colferstilinski/pseuds/colferstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Well, if there’s a rumour that I'm a paedophile circulating in town, just… don’t. It’s your fault. It really is.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	texting is the new black

Stiles likes harassing Derek and he’d do just about anything at any means to accomplish that feat. The most recent of said means would be through text since Derek bought himself a new phone which Stiles, of course, had been whining his damn mouth off time and time again that his previous phone didn’t belong in this decade.

The old simple Nokia phones are great, okay?

Anyway, Stiles likes to go all out with his texts, often receiving lengthy ones that have way too many details. Derek thinks it’s probably because he needs the receiving party to experience the greatness of his visions.

-

Derek’s picking up yogurt for Erica at one of the more promising grocery stores in town because she’s a whining bitch on her period and her demonic womb apparently craves for some peach flavoured yoghurt that she just can’t get her damn ass off the bed to go get it.

He’s browsing through the cold section aisle, plucking through different selections of yoghurt brands when his phone vibrates in his other hand.

Yeah, it’s useless to slide it back into his jeans pocket since Stiles replies fast and when he doesn’t send a reply quickly enough, he gets spammed.

He hates getting spammed.

_Could you imagine a whole canteen of ravenous school kids with buttholes for their mouths? That’s obscene. Like, the thought of them carrying spare lube all the time just to stretch the tight muscles out to /eat/. Fucking Christ, Derek. I may have broken my spleen from laughing._

Derek drops the yoghurt he’s holding onto the floor and the splash back is all over his jeans—his _crotch_.

Just his day.

It looks like he just suffered through an entire bukkae incident while fully clothed. All courtesy to Stiles.

Idiot.

“Fucking kids,” Derek mutters hotly even though his lips are turning at the corners.

One of staff that works for the store is approaching the mess and has a look of faint amusement, probably catching what he said.

Derek squawks. “No!” He stutters. “Not in the sexual way. Jesus. No. That’s a—just, no. Okay? It’s a… an _insult_ —to someone.”

She lifts a brow at him, grinning in a way that makes Derek feels on edge. “I’m middle aged, not _ancient_. I still understand all you teenage kids’ lingo.”

Derek gives his damnest poker face, apologizes for the mess and walks away with a new carton of yoghurt in his hand.

_Well, if there’s a rumour that I’m a paedophile circulating in town, just… don’t. It’s your fault. It really is._

Stiles replies in less than thirty seconds.

 _Why?_ The first text reads and it follows up quickly with a second. _You got hard at my previous text?_

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Derek groans, wondering why this is his life now. He pays the cashier with faint hostility, grunting when she smiles a little too wide and lingers a beat too long as they brush fingers when he collects his change.

_I’m going to saw your fingers off, Stiles, and shove it up your nose._

_Ooh, Mr. Big and bad pulling out the big guns. Should I wear my red hoodie too? Get in with more role pay? Should I also croon ‘Oh, whatever would you do with those large teeth of yours?’_

Derek throws his phone on the floor.

…and it’s totally not because of the way his mind supplies how Stiles would look so good in red while they’re on his bed, slicked open and ready.

Definitely not.

-

“Dude,” Stiles greets him when Derek hosts an impromptu pack meeting later that night. “Heard from Erica you karate chop your phone.” He does this laugh that has the hair at the back of Derek’s neck standing. “Anger management isn’t helping?”

Derek’s nostrils flares, “Were you dropped on the head when you were a baby? Because— _why_?”

“Nah,” Stiles says lightly, amusingly. “But I remember my dad not being able to catch me one time when a waitress served us food when I was two and I was galloping, yes, I galloped when I was a baby, towards her tray of animal shaped pancakes. I’ve never been that same galloping child ever since.” He fake sniffles.

Derek stares at him. “Atrocious.”

“Yes,” Stiles sings and grins at him mischievously like he knows exactly what Derek’s thinking. “Admit it. You got hard from my texts.”

“Fine,” Derek relents because— _because_ they’re not like old Derek and Stiles where they’re both stubborn and hot-headed. They have two and a half years of mutual respect and friendship—or Stiles would say, broship—they’re just not above bantering. “I did. Now, quit it.”

Stiles gapes, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Holy shit, man! Was it the buttholes text? Cause seriously, that’s like, horrible. I’m sorry but I don’t want a flesh light in my mouth to re-enact your kinks.”

Derek wants to pluck his eyeballs out. With Allison’s extensive crossbow arrows collection. He hates his life this much.

“I am not a pervert.” He seethes.

“Says the guy who got hard from my texts!”

“Oh, _yuck_.” Scott exclaims, walking in with three boxes of large pizzas and Isaac following shortly with two six packs in his hands. “Get your homoerotism out of this apartment. God, I practically need to air the place from not choking on both of you two’s arousal. Stop it. I’m warning you.”

Isaac snorts. “It’s cool. I’ve smelt Jackson so… eh. Nothing is worse than axe deodorant and come.”

Derek rubs on his face, exasperated.

Obviously he has to rethink his life—his priorities—his… Stiles? No. Not his.

Yet.

No. Shit. Ah, fuck it.

-

When Derek opens the box of pizza and takes the first slice, it’s clammy and soggy in his hands like it’s been sitting at the backseat of a car for way too long with the air condition on full blast.

Yeah, so much for blatant homoerotism, Scott.

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a friendly text conversation with my best friend sol and me talking about how celebrities have cute buttholes (like chris colfer and dylan o'brien) and it just... spiralled from there. yeah, i don't know about you but like, uh, well, buttholes.
> 
> they're glorious.
> 
> <3


End file.
